Saturday, November 26, 2005

No More Wire Hangers!!!

(From 11/15 Journal) You have no idea how much I've been anticipating writing the title to this entry. No idea. So let me fill you in quickly on what is going on in the Haus der Mankrap, I mean, our house. Short story: I apparently AM related (at least distantly) to my mother. Out of the blue, I decided that I totally and completely hate our room/no, wait, our HOUSE. Not the actual house, but the fact that it is so crammed with items that I either cannot get to because there are other Things in the way of them. And the fact that there is an entire room devoted to collecting, piling, hoarding and apparently saving for posterity.. mail. And magazines. And knives. And books. And CDs.

NEWSFLASH/INTERUPTION: I've got TLC's "Clean Sweep" on behind me for inspiration and the host dude JUST said: The way the space is shared in the closet is similar to the balance of power in the relationship." Remember this - you'll cry for me later.

Not to mention the fact that as things stood yesterday, my clothes took up about 30 percent of the closet, plus I have a child-sized (read: teeny) 4 drawer set for my underthings and a shoe rack/bookshelf. Now the husband had the following: 70 percent of the closet, plus a bookshelf that goes almost to the ceiling, FILLED with clothes, plus an extravagantly overfilled "tie rack" where things such as belts, pants, shirts, jackets and other non-tie items lived in a large heap in what was the "laundry closet". Plus the fact that there was a ridiculous amount of laundry which was 70 percent not my clothes. Plus a crammed "coat closet", a pile/doorknob full in the office AND... wait for it.. like an entirely other wardrobe of defunct (read: to small, to old, and to funky...yet since they hold special memories, cannot be sold or donated to charity.) crap. I mean, clothes. I mean, my back hurts from lifting and carrying the Leather Jacket collection (circa 1990-2005) most of which was literally DUSTY from not being worn.

Naturally, the only logical thing to do was give up, cede the closet entirely to He Who Collecteth Clothing like Imelda Marcus collected shoes. I hate with the fire of a thousand burning suns our floor-to-ceiling mirrored closet doors, yet at least if I can get a bunch of his stuff actually behind them, I can die happy. And may. Which begs the question, natch, "Where do your clothes live now? Remember my cool, ultra-organized laundry closet that SHOULD HAVE BEEN SELF-SORTING BECAUSE THERE WERE THREE BINS FOR DARK, MEDIUM LIGHT? No? well, it could have been a thing of beauty. And it is the original, 1933 closet. Which means it is approximately the size of a coin purse. That is all the space I am allowing myself for my clothes (notice I did not say shoes or lingerie). I will finally have my own room in the house. Yeah! I've installed a cheery set of white lights (they have neato different settings, so "my" room can blink, pulse, fade or go onoffonoffonoffonoff.

I'm thinking of turning it into one of the following looks. Keep in mind that this will be mostly behind a closed door, so a little tacky is ok.

1. Chi-chi girly-girl (kitchy and fun) Pink paint, gilded mirrors, a stepping stool done in overstuffed zebra or other funky print fabric and trimmed with a boa, etc etc.
2. Paris-boutique chic - kind of like the above, but with a bit more restraint- black, white, taupe, touches of gold. There could be cute wall treatments like little shoes, hats, etc in light and breezy style painted on the walls. Or even an upholstered wall.
3. The Zen closet - lined with cool reed matting or other natural material, dark wood clothes bar, natural fiber baskets tastefully on the dark-brown painted shelves.
4. The Martha Stewart closet with pale colored walls, shelves papered in a cute toille or other nice paper. Clothes bar in a thick creamy white, with a tiny chandelier. Seriously. Actually, the chandelier may have to make an appearance no matter what. I heart chandiliers.

Wait till I tell you about the Rest of the House.

Now, go rest your eyes. I've got to get back to work.

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